The Saint John’s Bible is an illuminated manuscript commissioned by Saint
John’s Abbey and University in Minnesota.[1] Begun in 1998, it is a conscious
attempt to recapture the idiosyncratic liturgical and devotional aspects of
illuminated manuscripts of the past. As Susan Sink explains in her
introduction, “Illuminations are never illustrations, always theological
reflections. They are more than pictures accompanying the text” (p. 8).[2] In
this helpful work, Sink’s goal is to “foster . . . reflective experience
with the [biblical] text and the illuminations” (p. 10). The format of the
book is eye-catching and accessible: selected images from The Saint John’s
Bible are reproduced  first from the Wisdom books and then from prophetic
literature  and Sink then provides a brief theological commentary on the text
along with an analysis and observations on the illumination.

As an example, we will consider the entry for Isaiah 52-53 (pp. 68-69). The
image is stark, lacking the effervescence and brightness of other images
reproduced in the book. In the center is a small figure enclosed by what
appear to be bars. Surrounding this figure is a stunted and dark
calligraphic rendering of Isa 53:4b-6. Like all the images in the book, this
image is reprinted on far too small a scale for the reader to appreciate
truly the artistry and complexity of the work, but it is large enough for
the reader to understand the tone the artist intends. In her comments, Sink
juxtaposes this image with the illumination titled “Messianic Predictions”
(pp. 62-63), which treats Isa 7:14. The two images could not be more
different, as “Messianic Predictions” is filled with gold  here used to
signify the presence of God  and trumpets blasting “hallelujahs” to the
heavens. As Sink notes, though, “These two illuminations together, however,
bring out the true nature of Christ,” that is, both God-filled and suffering
as a human (p. 68). That suffering is contemporized through the adaptation
of modern images of suffering. For example, Sink writes that the bars in the
“Suffering Servant” illumination are based on the fence at Guantanamo Bay.
Similarly, she writes of the lone figure in the middle of the image, “Drawn
from images of starving children, victims of the African famines, it is a
familiar portrait of suffering, and one that never ceases to move us.” She
continues by connecting the resonance from the image to a spiritual lesson,
and notes, “Oppression, injustice, neglect, war, and poverty are indeed the
result of our iniquity. Here stands a figure that is vulnerable and yet able
to redeem us” (p. 68). As proof of her claim, she points to the cross above
the image, made from the same bars that confine it, but now made of gold.

Given her stated purpose, Sink’s work succeeds very nicely. Readers are
introduced to and invited to ruminate on selected images from the Saint
John’s Bible in a thoughtful and engaging fashion. However, as someone
unfamiliar with the Saint John’s Bible, I was at times frustrated by a lack
of background information on the project, but perhaps the publisher is
assuming a more targeted audience. Additionally, as I note above, the images
are simply too small for viewers to appreciate them entirely, but the
accompanying website alleviates this quibble slightly. In sum, this slender
book is an appealing aesthetic experience that asks its readers to
contemplate scripture devotionally, linguistically, traditionally, and
visually.